


A World Without Your Love

by notreserenade



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Reader-Insert, Sappy, Slow Burn, alternate universe - marks that proclaim one's amount of love, gets rather sappy because hi hi hello welcome to the club, mild swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-10-06 02:22:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17336873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notreserenade/pseuds/notreserenade
Summary: It’s considered to be human nature to crave for love and affection.So what happens to those in a world where those who fall out of love, also fall off the earth?You meet Oikawa Tooru to find out.





	1. locker-room talk

**Author's Note:**

> In this universe, every person is born with a mark. It’s usually quick to go away for people who have no problem with falling in love or are filled with love by or for other people, but for those who, so to speak, fall out of love, the mark can appear again; making it a ticking time bomb that tells them that the time they have left is limited, and they are going to vanish from earth very soon.
> 
> To vanish, as in dying; to simply become air— _to become existent no longer._

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa Tooru is not a pervert.
> 
> Probably.

How many ways are there to tell a love story?

It seemed like there were endless ways to tell them, and people loved them despite the fact that love stories always had the ending of two people ending up together after a series of circumstances. Or they didn’t. But not that it mattered, since it would be predictable either way.

The first time you experienced heart-break was at the age of eighteen. A late bloomer, some might say, but who were they to say so? Emotions don't consider age.

You understood why people liked a good love story. The concept of having someone that comes from an entirely different path of life to show love and affection towards another person was thrilling. The circumstances that they would face would wake memories of experiences that you’ve probably gone through, making you emotionally invested in the choices that the couple makes. You understood, but that didn’t mean that you liked them. Love stories were cliché, to say the least, and the very fact that you disliked them was probably a cliché in itself since people who thought so probably just didn't believe in love themselves.

And it was true. Love was just a construct that people built to mask what it really was; just a chemical imbalance in our brain. Just like one has urges to eat and go to sleep, to crave for affection from another person was just another form of need that people had in their lives. Not to say that people who masked love as this mythical thing were dumb, though. After all, you’ve been in their shoes, too. You, like seemingly everyone else, thought of love as a magical thing that would exist forever between destined individuals. But after your first heartbreak, following by a series of misfortune in the love department, you realized that it wasn’t as complicated as people liked to portray it as.

Love was simply there, or it was not. Love would grow, or it would not. It was a concept of either or, and that was that.

At the age of twenty-three, you had become a lot of things; a college student at a decent university, a person who now (to your dismay) wore glasses, stingy when it came to spending money, maybe a little lazier than before when it came to socializing with other people, and perhaps a bit too desensitized of love. Love was everywhere; Couples on the streets, couples on campus, couples on the train. Couples increased during the holiday season and increased when a new term started. It seemed like no matter where you turned, you were slapped in the face by the fact that you were alone, and you were tired of it. 

But you weren’t tired by the fact that you didn’t have a significant other, though. No. In fact, you were just tired of how obsessed people seemed to be of it, and how nosy people were being for always questioning why you’d choose to be alone. You lived alone in an apartment with your cat, you went to eat alone, you usually declined party and drinking invitations. But what people didn’t understand was that with you being alone wasn’t some kind of utter heart-wrenching fact that you were miserable over. You had accepted your solitude for what it was, is all. Not some kind of great sob story behind it, or that there was some kind of complicated equation that you had stumbled upon that ultimately lead for you to completely lose the ability to love.

Or at least, even if that was the case, you didn’t want them to know. Or for it to show. So, you hold it in. That way, they get to speculate all they want, and you’d get to casually dismiss their speculations.

For the world to have an endemic that made the ones that had fallen out of love to become marked with a mark that indicated their limited time left on earth seemed like a giant middle finger up your ass. How ironic it was that your life was going to end by the very same thing that had seemingly dictated your life.

Was this the way you wanted to go?

Probably not.

Or maybe it was, considering your student loans, but _hey_ , that’s for another day.

The day you found a mark etched on your skin was just like any other day; spent with a refreshingly cold beer and your lovely cat in the comfort of your own bed while your laptop laid in front of you, playing that one comedy show that you absolutely love. You always expected being marked to be dramatic. Frantic, even. But when you felt your skin burn with the mark that was to indicate the time you had left on earth was now limited, you couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed. How uneventful it was, to be in bed while watching Netflix, only to discover that you’re about to die in four months’ time if you didn’t find love right then and there. A concept that you’d been avoiding for so long, a concept that you’d been so scared of.

For you to succumb to such a fate made you feel pathetic.

And maybe you’d be a bit angrier if it wasn’t for your cat cutely cooing for more snuggles.

  
Everyone was born with a mark. Soon after they are born, the mark usually disappears because of the love and affection people around them would give the little child. But just like there were still people living in the Amazon, there was a very small percentage of people that would get their mark back after it had vanished.

You, for instance.

There weren’t a lot of people who’d get marked later in their lives. People were obsessed with the concept of love and loving, after all, so to have people who had fallen out of love to vanish from earth didn’t actually seem to affect people as much as you thought it would. It was crazy after all, you’d say time after time when finding yourself in discussions about the mark, how people just couldn’t seem to care for those who vanished so suddenly.

“But don’t you think that people who are "loveless" were probably heartless, to begin with?” your friends would then say as a counter-argument, which you would then roll your eyes at. The whole idea of having had fallen out of love, or as many had called it; _loveless,_ was such a vague idea to you, and so to blatantly state such an opinion as if it was fact made you question your choice of friends. Love comes in so many shapes and sizes. You could love your cat, or your friends, or your family. Of course, your significant other would need some of that love, too, but all of that was beside your point of arguing how _unfair_ it was for people who simply choose not to love to be excluded from existing.

You absolutely  _despised_ the endemic that had cast its way on the world.  _Nothing was ever definite._ The reason for becoming marked again, the time-span you had left after becoming marked— _none of it_ had a clear and concrete answer, and that you hated.

A lot.

Your parents were married but had still gotten their marks back. A year later, both of them vanished. A loveless marriage it was, perhaps, which proved to you that marriage really didn’t mean much when it came to love, after all. It didn’t prove love and affection, or that people would care more or less for each other after they got married. Or maybe the marriage between your parents did, _somehow_. But it did so no longer after a while, and just like that, you’d lost your parents to the phenomenon that no one could explain.

For you to get marked again, too, didn’t really surprise you. In fact, you’d almost expected it. But just like anything else, to actually get it meant something entirely different. It meant that you were now out of time. It meant that you were going to have to drop everything that you’d worked so hard for. And all because of the very same concept that you despised the most.

The survival time-span one had after they become marked again differed from person to person. The average time-span was four months, but depending on the reason for becoming marked again (which never would be definite), it could become shorter. After all, the sole fact of becoming marked again was very rare, and happened amongst less than a handful of people. But for those who did become marked again, the mark would usually be hidden with whatever clothing they could cover it up with. The mark usually appeared on random spots of the body, and for your part, the mark appeared on your chest over your heart, making it very convenient to hide. All you had to do, after all, was to wear shirts with a higher neckline, or just hoodies (upon hoodies) to hide the mark, so you'd expected your mark to be able to go completely unnoticed throughout the months you had left to figure something out.

But of course, the universe wasn't going to let you have it your way. You never get to have it your way, after all, so why would this be any different, even if you were going to die and all?

Your mark was supposed to be discreet and not easily discovered. It was on your chest, after all, and it wasn’t like you were prone to enough action to expose your chest (you’d laugh at that, but that’d be quite dark). And so, for Oikawa Tooru, the local campus playboy, to have caught a glimpse of your mark while you were changing in the girls' locker room by the university gym made you incredulously frustrated, to say the least. What was he doing in the girl’s locker room, anyway? Although, to be fair, it wasn’t that much of a surprise to find in him the girl’s locker room considering his reputation. Maybe the real question was, 'what took him so long to finally catch me changing', instead.

“You’re…” Oikawa had croaked out, breaking the frozen space between the two of you with a voice that hinted surprise while his eyes traveled from the mark on your chest to your, well, _chest._ “You’re like me.” He trailed off with a breath.

You frowned, not quite understanding his actions. You didn’t feel embarrassed towards people you didn’t care for, but still; the situation that you were in wasn't a typical one. With your eyebrows knitted in the utter confusion that he’d left you in, you replied, “Not really.”  
  
“No, I mean- “ 

“No.”

You sighed this time as you calmly put your hoodie over your head and pat it straight by your stomach. “I’m not like you.”

 _This is for the best,_ you'd then thought. To play ignorant was what you'd been the best at, after all. You've played the same game back when you experienced your first heartbreak, and back when your parents were starting to disappear. To play it again shouldn't be too hard since practice _did_ make perfect.

Right? 

The man before you was handsome; tall and muscular, charismatic and great with words. You’ve seen Oikawa Tooru around. He took the same classes as you and knew the same people that you did. Upon the stolen glances of him, you'd always thought that he seemed so unreachable; the way he'd so casually approach the people around him and wear a smile that was almost always painted on his lips (painted, because you never really thought that it looked genuine).

 _Weird_ , you thought as you let your eyes travel over his facial figures, how he wasn’t flashing you that smile of his at this very moment.

“I meant,” Oikawa said then with a calmer tone (almost as if trying to ease away from his previous surprised one), while finally looking away as you put your pants on. “You’ve got the mark, too.”

Your eyes snapped to his wrist.

With his boisterous popularity amongst the people around him, he was the last person you’d actually think would be marked. 

But he was. He lifted his sleeve to show you, and there it was.

The mark.

And so, you nod. You'd hesitated to answer him because to answer a question like that meant to acknowledge it as a fact, but the fact that he had a mark too was somewhat comforting to you. Regardless of how much you prided on being alone, it was almost as if it was actually going to be rather nice to not be, for once.

“Yeah.” Was all you could say as turned to look at the expression on his face which, surprisingly, you couldn’t comprehend. It wasn’t teasing, or condescending, or _anything_ that you’d expected him to look. He looked almost _sad;_ almost as if actually becoming affected by the fact you were marked, too. And perhaps he was. Or maybe he was sad for himself.

You couldn’t tell. 

“So, help me.” Oikawa almost whispered, his chocolate-brown eyes meeting yours with a sense of urgency that almost looked like he was actually asking for help.

“Let’s help each other.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome! I've grown quite fond of this story, as I've put a lot of personal thoughts and experiences into it. Quite the emotional ride ahead you guys, so buckle up!!
> 
> I really hope what I'm trying to convey is showing though, considering how this is also my first reader-insert story (any feedback is greatly appreciated)! Also, if you guys have any questions regarding anything unclear (about the universe etc.), feel free to ask away about it, too!


	2. for the mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He gave you his number.
> 
>  
> 
> _Because of course he did._

You’ve always hated being pitied by others. For the longest time, you’ve tried to avoid talking about yourself in front of others because of the forced, worried faces they’d show you.  
  
It doesn’t make sense, you’ve thought, the way they’d put themselves in your shoes as if they’d immediately understand what you’ve gone through. The way they’d pat your shoulder and assure you that time would heal whatever wounds you’ve gotten – it just didn’t make sense. 

Time helped with a lot of things, but coping with losing your parents wasn’t one of them.

Pitying others was just as bad for you. The fact that you could do nothing but to only  _feel_ for someone else without being able to help makes you feel helpless and blatantly idiotic by the fact that all you could do was to sit in the bleachers and just… watch. To observe the hardships of someone else, only to be conveniently reminded of how blessed you’re supposed to be to not be them. “Oh, poor you!” People would often cry when they’d see a beggar on the street or an elderly person crossing the street. And although people who pitied others probably meant well, “how awful it must be to be you!” was all you could hear them say.

The question that Oikawa had just thrown at you was not pity. If he didn’t have the mark, you’d thought that the expression on his face and the offer to help would’ve been.

But he did have the mark, and that changed everything.

A lot of things run through your head, and a lot of things didn’t make sense. Why would Oikawa Tooru come to you for help, and why did he have the mark in the first place? The thought that the local playboy was out of love almost made you want to scoff.

But then again, you didn’t know him, and he much less knew you, so you really didn’t have the right to judge. After all, that’s all people did with you, so why would you want to be the same? You’ve always gone against the grain – if you had any intention on fitting in, now would probably be a little too late.

You hadn’t taken into account to what kind of expression you’d have in reaction to his question, but you pull a face the moment you register his words, and it almost makes Oikawa laugh. He refrains himself though. Sensing that you weren’t one to be too keen of jokes, he keeps his distance. But only slightly – enough distance to keep you comfortable, and enough closeness for him to go through your face. Your soft hair, your knitted eyebrows, your eyes that bore an expression that was both hardened and confused; the essence of you made him almost hold his breath, and it wasn’t because of the way you looked.

Which, undoubtfully, would be arguable, considering the fact that the two of you were standing in a female locker-room.

“Look, Oikawa-san.” You finally sigh. You usually spoke with caution, each sentence thought about in your head before speaking them out. But for this, you didn’t. You were clinging to your chest for words that you wanted to express but did not know how to, and the frustration that you were feeling was creeping up your skin. “I appreciate your offer, but-“

“But?” Oikawa challenges with a raised eyebrow.

But what? Not even you knew what you wanted to say. You weren’t used to people being in your personal space – let alone five meters away from you changing. 

“…But let’s talk outside instead.” You finally mutter under your breath as you take out your bag and shoes out of the locker and walk past him, only to feel his lingering stare at your neck.

\---

Following you with steps that didn’t need to be quick thanks to his height, Oikawa scratches his nose slightly at the sudden breeze that slaps the both of you in the face when you’re both outside of the gym.

“You hate the idea of it _that_ much?” he questions you while following you to a nearby bench on the campus. A bad location to hold a conversation, Oikawa thinks, when he feels eyes boring into every surface of the two of you by the students around you. You were sharing a conversation with Oikawa Tooru, after all, so to be in the public eye was to be expected. He was quite famous, with him being the star player of the university team and all.  

But thankfully, you didn’t seem to mind. You didn’t seem to care about most things, he’s noticed from watching you in class or at the cafeteria. The calmness that you surrounded yourself with often left him to wonder if you ever had a moment of chaos. And if you didn’t, whether _he_ could potentially be your chaos.

A comforting thought it was, for you to seemingly be alright despite the fact that life was constantly happening around you. But patience will eventually break, and Oikawa doesn’t want that for you. Or for himself, either, but that was beside the point.

Throwing your bag to the side, you sit down on the bench and pat the seat next to you to signal him to sit beside you. You’re looking down at your beat-up sneakers that you’ve worn for three years straight because looking at him might make you… waver. Or something. Whatever he was doing with those deep-brown eyes of his, it was making you nervous.

“The mark is a personal problem- “, you start as you refuse to meet his gaze that seemed to tear through your skin.

“And since it’s, you know, a personal problem and all-” 

“You want it to stay personal.” He finishes for you, and you nod. It was true. A personal problem shouldn’t involve others, and for just a second from a quick glance to his face, you'd thought that he was actually considering whatever you were about to say. 

But that was, of course, not the case.

A definite cure for removing a returning mark was, like everything that evolved around the mark, not definite. But a few facts were known. There was no specific cure that existed, but the one thing that had proven to have a tremendously good effect on people with a returning mark was _affection_. An extensive release of hormones such as phenylethylamine, dopamine, noradrenaline—all of such that one would get from hugs and kisses and, well, _love._ Or in other words, as some would call it, “finding love again”.

“The problem, though,” Oikawa then says as he finally tears his gaze away from you while crossing his legs, “is that this mark won’t go away if you work alone.” 

Catching you glare at him in the corner of his eye, Oikawa chuckles. “You know what I mean.”

“I know that.” You mutter bitterly, crossing your arms to mirror the expression on your face. “I _know,_ but that doesn’t mean that I want to work with you _._ ”

You didn’t mean for it to sound like a personal insult, even though your words said otherwise. It wasn’t that you minded working with him or anything. What you minded was having to work with someone, period. You were so used to solving your problems alone, and to start working _together_ with someone _now_ seemed rather pointless. But to be fair, the problem that you had stumbled upon wasn’t exactly ideal to be worked on in solitude – which you knew perfectly well, and which is exactly why you’re bitter about Oikawa being right.

Oikawa pretends to stumble back from his seat while he wincing at his imaginary pain as if you’ve shot an arrow to his chest in response to your coldness. “Ouch.” 

“Well, yeah.”

Chuckling at your response, he decides to break the polite distance he’s been holding from you to ruffle your hair. A move you’ve never quite understood, and which reminded you of times when you actually loved the touch of a hand to your head.

And you hated it.

“For your information, people with a mark disappear.” Oikawa says in a low voice while making fireworks with his palms, “ _Poof!_ And they’re gone. _”_

The way he moves his palms in your face makes your mind flash you memories of your parents that you’ve buried.

  
_Poof! And they’re gone._  
  
  
_“We'll be alright, okay honey?”_  but your mother’s tired eyes were telling you anything but. _“We’ll get through this.”_

 _“Remember that I still love you a lot, alright?”_ your father’s pained expression was filled with despair and regret over his life and it made you sick to your stomach that you were probably the reason for it.  
  
“I’m not going to do this with you.” You hear yourself hiss as you feel your anger being directed at him but really was meant to be directed at yourself. But thankfully, Oikawa doesn’t seem to mind. His face was kept neutral, and a small part of you was thankful for it.  
  
“Do what?” he calmly asks, turning his gaze to you again with his head in his palm, making way for the breeze to go through his brown curls. 

“This-this- “

You think that he’s got some kind of plot behind it all. You know that’s probably not the case, and that it’s your own consciousness that’s talking, but still. You’re too frustrated to think or to form comprehensible sentences to make an argument, and really you just want to _hide away_ _from the world and_ -

“Hey.”

You finally face him, completely unnoticing of the fact that your own eyes were becoming watery.

“Don’t you want to survive?”

_“Mom and dad have gotten our marks, honey.”_

“Don’t you, just like me, want to stay alive?”

_“Live for us, alright baby?”_

“Y-you- “ is all you manage to croak out. He was turning the tables; making you face the emotions you’ve tried so hard to ignore.

And he was succeeding.

“Well,” Oikawa says in an almost-whisper, “I don’t want you to disappear.”

 _He’s only saying this because he doesn’t want to, either,_ you think, but the tears in your eyes still well up, and are dangerously close to falling. 

“So let me know if you change your mind. You’ve got my number.”

This makes you confused. Blinking away your tears to have a clearer view of the look on his face, you furrow your eyebrows to deny what he was saying. “No, I don’t.”

Standing up from the bench that the two of you were sitting on, Oikawa does a very Oikawa-esque thing and shoots you finger-pistols. “Yes, you do.” He says with a wink as he nudges his head to your pocket in your jacket.

“So call me.”  
  


\--- 

  
  
Drunk Oikawa Tooru.

That’s who you meet the second time you talk to him again. You didn’t call him, even though you’d found his number on a piece of paper he’d sneakily tucked in your jacket pocket.  
  
The fact that he’d approached you of all people almost made you feel a bit stupid, considering how many beautiful girls were constantly pining for him. He could’ve picked anyone to help him out – and yet he chose you. Was it because you were in your bra when he had first met you? You really hope that wasn’t the case. And besides, he’d probably forgotten about you by the time you’re in the urgent need of help, anyway. By the amount of beer that he had been gulping down his throat? You doubted that he’d even remember who _he_ was. 

“Hey…” Oikawa says drunkenly as he stumbles over air over to a very uncomfortable you at the bar entrance. How long has it been since the last time you entered a bar? Too long, considering the fact that you’re wearing your baggiest hoodie and a pair of sweatpants.

“Do you come here often?” he asks as he swings a heavy arm around your neck, making you almost lose your balance.

Amused over his drunken self, you raise an eyebrow curiously at him. Although he was the one that had given you his number, he’d somehow found yours in the class registry and called you on an evening of you spending time with your cat and lecture notes. You don’t know what had come over you to have gone to the bar where he was at, but since you were already here, you figured that maybe some questions were better left unanswered. 

You don’t answer his lame pick-up line, and realize that you don’t have to when he answers his own question with a follow-up question.

“Scratch that. _Will_ I see you more often?” Oikawa drunkenly questions you while his intoxicated breath fans your face.

“Let me take you home.” You mutter with a sigh as you struggle to carry his weight out of the bar. The cool evening breeze sends goosebumps to your skin, but when Oikawa breathes into your shoulder as if you were oxygen and he had a lack of it, you couldn’t help but feel your heart almost pounding out of your chest.

Quickly trying to come back to your senses, you shake him a bit in an attempt to get a comprehensive response from the drunken mess of a boy. “Oik- hey, Oikawa-san. Where do you live?”

With a wink and a clumsy smile, he wiggles a pair of finger-guns at you – just like the way he did when he’d given you his number.

“In the moment.” He breathes seductively, making you aggressively wanting to hit his face with a baton.

“What the fuck.” You hear yourself say with a frown, which he chuckles at.

“Stop frowning, my love.” He whines, putting a finger on the crease between your eyebrows. “You look so much better with a smile.”

His face is too close to your face, and you’re a bit terrified. Your lungs tighten at the sudden closeness as his breath tickles your skin, and you feel your blood flushing your cheeks.

And when his lips suddenly roughly meet yours, tasting of alcohol and something sweet, you can’t believe what was actually happening.

The weight he makes you carry makes you almost stumble over your feet, but thankfully the wall next to the bar entrance supports most of it. He swings his hands to cup your cheeks and plants a deeper kiss to your lips this time, almost making you melt away in his grip.

It felt foreign, to be handled with so much care despite the fact that he was so wasted. And maybe that’s how good he was with girls. Maybe that’s how captivating he was, the way he was able to enchant literally anybody. 

Even you, whose walls are built so incredibly high. Even you, who’s so used to hiding your emotions behind being focused on school and on music and on everything but what was making your chest squeeze and throat dry.

You look at the man in front of you. His face was lit up with a smile that looked the most genuine you’ve ever seen him wear. In a way, it seems like he’s been hiding his real emotions, too. But instead of doing it like you, he’d been expressing emotions that people were expecting him to have.

And maybe that’s easier to do.

You somewhat worry over the fact that he might actually be too dependent on alcohol if he needs to drink to really _feel_. You’ve been near that rabbit hole before. And you’ve witnessed your father in it.

But then he plants a kiss to your cheek, and back to your lips, and your mind goes completely blank.

 _I’m doing it for the mark,_ you assure yourself while panicking as you feel his hands move to your waist.

_  
I’m doing it—_

  
A pause sweeps your mind when he puts his lips to the crane of your neck, making you absolutely weak to your knees.

_  
—for the mark._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa lives in the moment, and so should you because new year new you, right? Lol I crack up every time I read that line because it's such a fuckboy thing to say (which is exactly what I imagine Oikawa to be like 99 % of the time). 
> 
> Give me some feedback! Comment your thoughts! I'd love to hear them.


	3. stuck in your hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And attention you'd give him.
> 
>  
> 
> _But from a distance._

The first time you’d gotten your heart broken was also the first time that you’d experienced love.

You don’t remember what had piqued your interest in the boy whom you’d occasionally meet eyes with on your way to school. He wasn’t much of a talker, after all, and the way he’d often snap back at his friends for being stupid made him seem to be, for the lack of better words, rather intimidating.

But he was always in your rear view, and without realizing it, your eyes had already formed a habit of traveling to wherever he was present. The tingling feeling of this newfound curiosity for someone else—it was weird, how it was able to paint this rosy colour of your surroundings. Small, insignificant moments of missteps and occasions became moments that you looked forward to having, and all the times you’d catch his eye on the morning train became times that would send your heart on doing volts in your chest.

You’d fix your hair a little whenever he was around and straighten your posture and hide your cheeks in your palms in class if he’d sit next to you and all of that made you feel a little dumb for being so giggly and bashful over a boy that you had never talked to.

People say that they don’t need a reason to fall for someone. You could list an endless list of things that could be reasons for why they were so wonderful to you, and yet nothing could ever quite pinpoint exactly why they’d become the one that you’d fallen for. It was a little bit of everything, and maybe even a little bit of nothing. You liked them because you did. You’d fallen for them because timing had made it so that you would.

That’s what your first love felt like to you. Everything from you being young to you being in an unfamiliar city at an unfamiliar school filled with unfamiliar people had become factors of timing that had led to you falling for the boy who’d you’d see playing volleyball with so much passion, and whose awkward kindness was never quite noticeable until you’d really pay attention to him.

And attention you’d pay him, but from a distance. Or so you’d expected yourself to, until your accidental encounter of dropping your teacher’s notes on the ground right in front of him.

Picking up the notes hurriedly to avoid all eyes being stared at you for too long, you watched a pair of hands in your view helping you pick them up, unlike everyone around you who were too busy staring or hurriedly walking to their classes.

It was strange, to be so close to someone who you’ve watched from a distance. You’d never talked to him before, but it almost felt like you had considering how much you’ve noticed about him. The way he’d squint with his eyes at the blackboard if he couldn’t see something (as if it’d help him see something better), or the way he’d pump his fist silently in victory to himself at the gym whenever his volleyball team would have practice matches. The smallest, most insignificant details made you smile, and you felt a bit pathetic for your head to be so much in the clouds because of it. After all, it wasn’t like those weird romantic comedies of high schoolers where the girl would hopelessly fall in love with a boy they’d never talked to happen in real life. And yet—there you were, becoming exactly what you’d feared to become. Except, you weren’t _in love_ with him, of course. You didn’t know him, after all. But you were curious about him. Curious about what he listened to in his earphones on the train ride to school, and whether he’d be home from volleyball training when you’d just arrived home. He’d sneaked into your mind without you realizing, and perhaps that’s just how a crush works.

Having had both been bending down to gather your notes from the floor, you suddenly feel your hair being tugged when you were about to stand up.

“Your hair’s tangled in my button," he’d said with his cheeks increasingly growing red; a look that didn’t quite match with the roughness of his appearance. The two of you were only inches apart, and how embarrassing it was for you to be stuck in a position that you’d always daydreamed about. But the sole fact that you’d always and only been around him from a distance made the sudden inches between the two of you a bit hard to handle. You’d decided then, while clenching your chest to regain the balance to stand up, that the closeness between the two of you that forced your eyes to either look down to the ground or directly at his face wasn’t good for your heart.

It became rather natural, the way the two of you started talking. His usual seat in the classroom was behind yours, making it easy for him to have an excuse to borrow your pencil or eraser. The number of times he’d been using that excuse to talk to you would’ve been obvious to anyone, but not to you, who’d only thought that he was quite the forgetful one. And just like how any other relationship had started, the two of you started to hang around with each other more. As friends, and then, when the timing was finally right, as a couple.

You’d go to his games, and he’d be over at your place helping you with memory cards. You’d draw signs to cheer for him at the Spring Tournament, and he’d gift you your favourite flowers for your birthday.

All the kisses to your cheek, all the soft whispering of sweet nothings that he’d whispered in the crane of your neck—there were all of those things and suddenly none of those things. 

You’d been together with him for two years. Two years of beautiful, heart-warming memories, and suddenly they were no longer.

He’d left you without an explanation.

Despite the fact that you prided on knowing exactly what he was thinking by just looking at his face, you couldn’t read the expression that was painted on his face when he’d left you at all.

Which didn’t make sense. You’d always been able to sense what he was thinking. Every slight raise of an eyebrow, every smirk, every eye-twitch or soft smile— _you_ were the one who was supposed to understand him like that. And so, none of it made any sense.  
  
_You_ didn’t make sense.

After he’d left you, you couldn’t help but feel so incredibly naïve for being so short-sighted. It was just a break-up, after all. It happened all the time, so why should you be so affected by it? 

You thought you were different from everyone else. But the gutting void that you felt at the pit of your stomach and all the nights of feeling all alone without hearing his voice confirmed that you weren’t much different as everyone else, after all. You, just like countless of other stories you’d heard, were utterly heartbroken by the fact that you’d been broken up with without reason. 

It had made you paranoid; what did you do? Did I do something wrong? But you didn’t do anything wrong. Just like he’d said, “It’s not your fault.”

But you couldn’t help but wonder. All the flaws that you considered yourself to have flashed through your mind the moment you’d heard his words, and for a second, you’d forgotten how to move. How to _listen_ , rather than just stand there, completely out things to say, and completely out of thoughts to think. There was a part of you and wanted to hide under a rock while you watch him explain why him breaking up with you was a choice that you did not partake in reasoning with.

 But he knew you better than that. He knew you’d see through his bullshit. After all, if anyone was going to be able to see through it, it would’ve been you.

So why was he wasting his breath on explaining lies?

It was pointless.

All that times that he’d whispered sweet nothings in your ear. All the memories that you’d held so dear to your heart and all the laughs that he’s made you had.

It was all pointless.

 

\---

 

Oikawa found himself at your apartment when he’d woken up. 

The gradual sunlight that shone through the window of your apartment had woken him up without a warning, but it was still not enough of a hint for him to realize that it was not his own bed that he was drooling on. A bit dumb he was, to not have realized that the soft and lavender-smelling sheets were not his own considering how his bed always smelled too much of the intensely smelling douche-cologne that he’s had a habit of putting too much on.

It wasn’t until he got his face licked by your small, ginger cat that he finally realized that he wasn’t actually home.

Propping himself up on the bed, Oikawa feels his heart almost completely jumping out of his chest with what he was witnessing before his eyes.

You’d fallen asleep in your couch next to your bed with a textbook covering your sleeping face. You, who didn’t contact him for almost a whole week since the last time the two of you spoke. With his growing headache reminding that he’d been drinking the night before, he can’t imagine how much in trouble he was to have somehow ended up at your place.

What the fuck did he do?

Tiredly rubbing his eyes for a clearer view (although not much clearer, considering how he’s not wearing his glasses), Oikawa scans through his surroundings. A vase of a single sunflower by the window. Three, big bookshelves filled with either textbooks and dictionaries or books of science fiction. A desk covered with papers and documents and textbooks from class. Your apartment wasn’t very decorated, but it was very clean. Very simple.

Unlike the actual you, he thinks, when his eyes land on you, and whose textbook had fallen off your face, revealing you sleeping with a frown that makes Oikawa lightly chuckle. You looked so annoyed, and understandably so, considering the fact that it was a drunk Oikawa that you’d been dealing with the night before.

Judging by fact that you seemed to still be wearing clothes from last night (or any at all for that matter), it seemed like he’d at least kept his pants on. A quick look under the sheets confirms this, and Oikawa sighs in relief.

But then his harsh hangover hits him with a headache, and suddenly he remembers. 

 _Fuck,_ he thinks as he attempts to make himself bald by pulling his hair in pure horror. 

_I kissed her._

  
But before Oikawa decides to jump out of the apartment from what seemed to be enough height to kill him if he did, the little cat that had now found himself comfortable on Oikawa’s lap purrs to call him back to planet earth.

He was either going to be killed by you when you wake up, or he could redeem himself by doing something in return.

But what in return?

A quick look towards your small kitchen is all it takes for him to decide that he needs to keep his mind busy before it sped the fuck off to panic-land, and cooking would do the trick for now. Trying his best to not wake you up, Oikawa quietly slips out of the bed and heads to the little space that was your kitchen to slap together a decent breakfast.

Opening your fridge, he found not much. A few eggs. Some left-over rice. Three cans of beers, which surprises him (you drink beer? You seemed more of a wine person).

Oikawa prides in his cooking, and in his massages. So hopefully you wouldn’t kill him after you’ve gotten fed and your shoulders massaged.

  
\---  
 

A plate of omurice with the word “sorry” written with kitchen over it. And Oikawa Tooru hiding under your kitchen counter.

That’s what you find when you wake up.

“…Omurice for breakfast?” is all you manage to say instead of addressing the questions that were swirling around your mind.

“And a massage for lunch!” Oikawa says with a voice that sounded very different from his usual voice and annoyingly cool demeanor. Something was very off with the way he wasn’t meeting your eyes. He was, after all, the one who would bore his stare through your soul, after all. “Or for breakfast, if you want me to leave earlier. That’s fine, too.”

He finishes off his sentence with a sheepish grin, but his face gave away how much in a panic he actually was in.

“Or no massage if you prefer that!” He suddenly declares almost immediately after you look away from his face and laughs nervously while heading towards the door.

But just when he was about to open your front door, he suddenly feels his shirt being tugged as if being stopped from leaving.

“Wait, Oikawa, I—”

And you were. You were actually attempting to hold him back by tugging his shirt, but with all the papers that you had laying on your lap, they’d fallen to the floor in a moment of brief distraction that prevented you from completing your sentence.

Sighing soundly, you bend down to pick up your stuff, and Oikawa immediately does the same to help you out. You rise to your feet, but stop halfway when you notice that a piece of your hair has tangled itself onto Oikawa’s button-up, making your faces inches away from each other—just like they were last night.

( _A_ _nd just like once before.)_  
  
Awkwardly looking away while clearing your throat, you open your mouth, but no words come out. There were none that needed to be said, after all.

It was just a kiss, you’d repeated over and over in your head.

“Hey.”

Oikawa gently untangles your hair from his button and puts his palms to your shoulders.

“Look—I’m sorry about last night.” He mutters, looking down. “I don’t usually get that wasted, and if I forced myself on you last night—”

“No!”

  
No?

What do you mean, no? You weren’t quite sure why you’d responded so quickly, and neither did Oikawa, you realize, when he immediately looks up to your face as if searching for some kind of explanation for your reaction. You’ve been neglecting his advances, after all, and to hear a response that might suggest otherwise made him confused.

   
“I—” you start, but can’t think of the right words to say. This happened so often, and you hated it. Why couldn’t you just _know_ what to say? What did you feel, anyway?

Maybe that’s where you’re supposed to start.

   
“You didn’t force me to kiss you last night.” You say quietly, as if confirming thoughts that you’ve just realized. “I—I kissed you back, after all.”

Waiting for you to continue, Oikawa unknowingly leans closer to you.

“But I’m not easy, you know.” You mutter as you look away from his face while immediately regretting the way you ended your sentence. What a great response you’ve given him—how smooth it was of you to declare that you weren’t an easy woman while blushing. 

Letting out a small chuckle, Oikawa gently puts a palm to your head. “Don’t worry. Trust me, I knew that from the start.” He says with a smirk, making your eyebrows furrow. How was it so easy for him to go from panic to being so swift?

You decide in your head that you’ll probably never understand him.

“I mean it.” You say while biting your lower lip with uncertainty—something you’re not at all trying to transcribe through your actual voiced message. “It’s not easy to change my mind when I’ve decided something-“

“And you’ve decided to _not_ work with me?” he questions challengingly. How annoying he was, to always know how to pull the right strings. He always knew what the right, witty response was to make you go speechless, and for someone like you who was usually so well prepared to respond, it truly annoyed you to no end.

But as much as you wish you could wipe that smirk off his face, you can’t help but feel a bit of relief for how he seemed to only sound teasing when you didn’t know what to say, as if to fill the void that was meant to be filled with you understanding what you felt. Which you didn’t, of course, or else you wouldn’t be sitting on the floor with Oikawa Tooru only inches away from your face.

Breathing in slowly to calm your loud heartbeat that was drumming in your ears, you declare what conclusion you’ve drawn after a night’s contemplation of his offer.

“I’ve decided.” you start, and pause, and clench your fist, and continue again.

“That I want to live.”

And before you can wrap your head around your next response, Oikawa wraps his strong, toned arms around your waist and buries his face in your neck, his brown curls hitting your nose.

“Oh shit,” you hear him mutter in your neck, his voice muffled and shaky and voicing disbelief. “I thought I had fucked up already.”

“You have.” You respond with a frown while feeling embarrassed at his casual closeness to you. “But hey—for the _record-“_

“Yeah yeah, I already know.” He says with a smile that you can’t see, “You’re not easy and I’m not the reason for you to agree.”

“But still,” he continues while you let his fingers go through your hair and puts it behind your ear before leaning in to whisper, “thank you.”

It seemed like Oikawa’ face was only millimeters away from your own, and for a second you think that he was going to kiss you again. But he passes your lips and whispers in your ear with the gentlest voice you’ve ever heard him speak in.

  
“For wanting to be alive, I mean.”

   
The moment he throws those words in the air almost feels like he put a heavy weight on your chest. It hurts—the reason for the pain is not quite understood by you. But a mixture of all the emotions and thoughts that goes through your head makes your hand go to the small of his back and pat him in response, almost as if you were consoling yourself.

Deciding that you should become used to the way he touches you, you touch his hands with your own as if trying to steady yourself from falling (metaphorically, but also literally) and reply him with a small voice.

   
“Yeah. I guess.”

   
And so, it had begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried my best to write the reader's first love as ambiguous as possible (for now) although I doubt that I did much of a good job with that, lol. Do you guys have a hunch on who it might be? If you do, do share with me on how I did with that!
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, and see you in the next chapter!


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